A Targaryen direwolf

In a clearing near his home, Jon practiced. Holding two wooden swords, the ten-year-old boy danced on the grass, each movement calculated, each step measured. Ser Arthur watched from the edge. He had been teaching the boy as soon as he could hold a stick. Now, he was proud to say Jon was more skilled than most kids his age. Whirl and spin, stab and swing, if he was fighting people and moving faster, the boy would be a whirlwind of death.

Jon paused to catch his breath. Ser Arthur nodded and took wooden swords.

"Well done, Jon. Now, let us see how you fare against an actual opponent."

"Alright, Uncle."

The pair took their stance. Ser Arthur feinted a move… Jon didn't react. His grey eyes were focused entirely on his caretaker. The Kingsguard silently praised him for not falling for it. This time, he made an actual stab. Jon dodged left and aimed a wooden sword at his knee. Ser Arthur whirled, moving his leg out of the way and aiming his left sword at the boy's head. Instead of blocking, Jon ducked. Ser Arthur nodded. It was a common mistake to try and block such a move. He was glad his ward didn't make it. Jon leaped away, disengaging for the moment of two short breaths. Then he dived back.

He crouched, using his small size to his advantage to aim below the belt. His caretaker had drilled into him that he should fight only fair when told so and treat any other situation as a fight for his life. And, when fighting for his life, any move was fair. So, the boy fought mean. And Ser Arthur was proud.

"Don't try to block." He remembered saying. "Duck, dodge and evade your opponent's blows. You have neither the strength nor the stamina to block it."

"Understood."

"Don't charge your opponent head on. You're swift and fast, so use it to your advantage. Outmaneuver your opponent, find the weak spots in his armor and strike there. Grind them down, starting by the arms and legs. Limit their movement. If they can't move, they can't hit you. This will give you the chance to finish them."

"When you fight someone bigger than you, cut the legs then cut the head."

"Exactly."

Now, his ward was using his skills to outmaneuver the Kingsguard and do exactly as he'd been taught, aiming for his knees and elbows, not yet going for his out-of-reach neck but still trying to stay in his back. The end result made them look like a pair of Dornish dervishes. Eventually, Jon leaped away, panting heavily. Ser Arthur smiled.

"That's enough for today. You did good, Jon. I only caught you three times."

"And I got you twice that number, Uncle." The boy grinned.

"That, you did. Let's go home. Your Aunt should be done with lunch."

Gwen Flowers watched Jon and Ser Arthur return. As always, the boy was sweating. The former nurse smiled.

"Was training good, today?"

"It was. Jon is making great progress. What's for lunch?"

"Venison stew. I guessed you two men would want something to fill your stomach."

Jon beamed. He loved venison. Sudden hoof beats made them all gasp and turn. Ser Arthur reached for Dawn, Jon reached for his bow and quiver, which were hanging by the door, and Gwen grabbed her biggest kitchen knife.

"Easy there, it's only me."

Jon immediately relaxed.

"Uncle Gerolt?"

Gerolt Hightower unhorsed and walked to the family.

"Hello, Jon. Doing fine, I see."

Everyone breathed.

"We're all doing well, brother. Come in, Gwen just finished cooking."

Gerolt smiled warmly. The four gathered within the small wooden house. It was simple, really. A single room with a double bed for Gwen and Ser Arthur, a smaller bed next to it for Jon and a third single bed on a wall for Ser Gerolt when he came to visit. No one else ever came there but him, and the family very rarely visited Last Hearth, just enough that Jon's social skills wouldn't be stunted. Even after ten years, they still feared Robert's wrath. There was a hearth and enough furniture for three, and that was it. A simple home, not exactly the place you would picture as a prince's abode.

But it was. The wooden house was the only home Jon had ever known. Gathering around the table, the four dined in peace, savoring the warmth of the stew.

"So, what are the news, brother?" Ser Arthur finally asked.

"The Greyjoys have risen against the Baratheon but, to what I heard, things are not going well for them. They managed to sink the entire Lannister fleet, but Robert counterattacked with the help of his brother. They have pushed the Greyjoys beyond Fair Isle."

Ser Arthur grumbled.

"This Stag has sharp antlers."

"Sharper than any of us thought. And Ned Stark is with him."

The three adults internally winced. Eddard Stark may be Jaeron's uncle but, being Rhaegar's son, there was no telling what he would do to the boy.

"Jon hit me six times during training today." The Sword of the Morning eventually said. "I only hit him three times."

Ser Gerolt grinned.

"Our little pup is sharpening his fangs, I see. Good lad. Your father would be proud. He never liked to fight, but by the Seven, he always finished them!"

Jon made a sullen face.

"…He didn't finish his last."

The words made the whole table go quiet. Ser Gerolt turned to his comrade.

"You haven't given him the letter yet?"

"No. It… It never felt the right time."

Jon turned to his caretaker.

"A letter?"

"Yes, your father's last words." Ser Arthur hesitated. "I… I didn't know when would be the right time, but…"

Jon looked away.

"You never said much about my father, only that he and Mom loved me and they were great people, that they were both really beautiful and Father liked writing songs and playing the harp while Mom preferred fighting and riding horses. You also… You also said that Mom died in childbirth and Dad was killed at the Battle of the Trident after he made you promise to watch over me."

"And all of it is true." Gwen smiled. "You are only missing key details, little pup. Details that we left out for your own safety."

Jon tensed.

"You have always been very protective of me. I always assumed it's because you were told…"

"We have been told." Ser Arthur confirmed. "Here, this will explain everything."

He took the letter Rhaegar had written ten year prior. Jon took it. Letters and numbers had been part of his education even though his life was basically that of a lowborn. The knights and the nurse watched his eyes widen as he read.

Jaeron, my son,

When you read this letter, I will be dead years ago. I wrote it on the day you were born, because you couldn't understand my words yet and I wanted to leave you with something to remember me. I am sorry I could never say those words aloud, but I don't have a choice.

My name is Rhaegar Targaryen, eldest son of King Aerys II Targaryen. Yes, this means you are a prince. But it doesn't matter. Your mother is Lyanna Stark, sister of Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Lyanna and I loved each other deeply, and you were loved before you were ever born. Never doubt it. Not once, ever doubt that your mother and I loved you. Lyanna gave her life giving birth to you, passing you her own strength to ensure you would be healthy. As for me, I also gave my life for you. This is why I am no longer with you.

You see, your mother was betrothed to Robert Baratheon, but she had no love for him. She loved me instead, and I loved her back. When we left to Dorne to elope, Robert was livid and swore vengeance against my family. I know the Stag. He is stubborn. He will not stop until all Targaryens are dead. I dread this includes you. But I won't let him get his hands on you. I spread the news that you died along your mother so people won't look for you. Then I will die by Robert's hand. The only ones who know about you are me, Ser Arthur, Ser Gerolt and Lady Gwen, and I tasked them to raise you. With me, the secret of your existence will have perished. You will be safe, from the Stag and any of his allies.

I hope you forgive me this abandonment, my little dragon-pup, but I have no choice. My enemies are numerous, and I will have none of them take you. Ever. I love you too much for that. This is why I sacrificed myself to Robert. This is why I assigned the best swordsmen I know to watch over you. Beyond death, heed my wish, the last wish of your father: please, be well.

I love you.

Your father, Rhaegar.

Jon bit his lips. He understood the letter. It explained everything. Tears rolled, some falling on the parchment. His family held him tight.

Over the passing weeks, the three adults noticed a clear change in the boy's behavior. He was sullen, melancholic almost. His focus during training became greater. When they sparred, it felt to Ser Arthur as if he was picturing the Usurper instead of him. It didn't surprise him. The boy hardly ever said a word, not that he spoke much even before. The worst was that the two Kingsguards didn't even have to temper him. Everything in Jon was about control and precision. He fought with the kind of tranquil fury only the truly wrathful ever felt. Rage didn't blind him, it opened his eyes. His fighting skills increased by leaps and bounds.

"An icy flame." Ser Gerolt commented one day. "Targaryen fire tempered by Stark ice. A deadly combination if there ever was one."

"Let us hope Lyanna's blood can starve the Targaryen madness." Ser Arthur prayed. "Rhaegar would be ashamed to see his son fall to it."

"...By the way, where is he?"

The two Kingsguards nearly jumped out of their armor. Of course, it had taken but a moment for Jon to give them the slip. The two men immediately began scouring the forest, calling the boy. After what felt like an hour, Jon finally answered.

"Uncle Arthur, Uncle Gerolt, I'm there!"

The knights found the boy walking to them with a white bundle in his hands. Ser Arthur sighed.

"Jon, for the Seven's sake, don't slip away like that! You almost gave us a heart attack!"

Ser Gerolt was more interested in the white bundle in his hand. The bundle moved to reveal a red-eyed canine face.

"…Jon, is that – !"

"It's a direwolf pup. I found it wandering alone. He's cute, isn't he?"

"He disappears for an hour and he returns with a direwolf puppy. He's a Stark, alright."

The Kingsguard sighed. He was about to speak when he noticed the boy's look. Big pleading grey eyes looking up with a touch of sorrow, bottom lip propped forward ever-so-lightly in a pout, head hunched slightly between his shoulders with his arms wrapped around the pup…

'Seven, please, not the kicked puppy face…'

Ser Arthur had to work hard to hold his laugh. It wasn't the first time Jon was giving them the puppy eyes, but it was one of his cutest.

"Fine, you can keep him. You're half-Stark, after all. How will you name him?"

"Ghost, because he's as white as one."

The puppy yapped happily. When they got back home, Gwen approved of the find.

"I heard it say direwolves can grow to be as big as small horses. Train it right, and it will make one fierce companion."

Ser Arthur grinned and turned to his ward.

"Now I think about it, Ghost may be a direwolf, but he looks more Targaryen than you."

Jon perked.

"Really?"

"Yes. The Targaryen dynasty is famed for having white hair and purple eyes that sometimes edged on red. Now, look at Ghost: white-furred and red-eyed, just like a Targaryen."

Jon chuckled.

"True. I should've noticed sooner." He knelt and nuzzled the puppy. "You hear that? You're Targaryen outside and Stark inside while I'm Stark outside and Targaryen inside!"

The whole house laughed. They laughed less the next day when a certain someone came to visit. Ser Arthur was maintaining their equipment with Jon when a horse neighed close. The pair tensed while Gwen perked out, knife in hand. She hissed when the horse appeared in sight, bearing on its back Eddard Stark himself. Ser Arthur instantly drew Dawn. Jon reached for his bow.

Eddard looked at the place. The wooden house looked simple, and the people before him were dressed in simple clothes of tissue and leather. Yet, there was no mistaking the sword of white steel in the man's hand, nor the boy's oh-so-distinct features. For a moment, Ned thought he was seeing a male version of Lyanna. Ser Arthur stood and drew his second sword, glaring dangerously at the Lord of Winterfell. Ned unhorsed and raised his hands.

"Easy, Ser Arthur. I come in peace."

Jon snarled. He was about to say something angry when the Kingsguard beat him to it.

"Last time I heard, you and King Robert were like peas in a pod. What guarantee I have that you won't tell him about Jaeron as soon as you leave this place?"

"None but my word."

He looked at Jon. There was no way to tell the boy was a Targaryen except maybe the prettiness of his face. At first glance, he was a Stark through and through.

"It isn't enough."

"I mean no harm. On Lyanna's name, I swear I will never hurt a hair on her son's head."

"You, maybe. Others…"

"Others believe they both died."

Jon tensed.

"What gave us up?"

"A glimpse of you, one day, in the woods. I found the tracks of a direwolf pup that had wandered from its litter. I had found its dead mother and taken the five pups for my children, only to notice the footprints of the missing last. I followed them to find a boy who looked like a male version of my sister holding a white puppy. It only lasted a moment, but I remember Lyanna's face. The resemblance is striking."

Jon bit his lip.

"So, it's my fault. Sorry, Uncle Arthur."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Ser Arthur looked Ned dead in the eyes. "Our prince tasked me with watching over his son and raising him as he would have. He chose me because I am the best swordsman in Westeros. Jaeron will stay alive."

Everyone knew how dangerous the Sword of the Morning was. He had no equal, not even ten years after the rebellion. Ned knew he didn't have a chance against him. When he said he meant no harm, he was sincere.

"I will never do anything to get him hurt. I love Lyanna too much. Neither Robert nor anyone else will know about him. I swear on my honor as a Stark."

Ser Arthur relaxed a bit. Starks were known to be honorable. He decided to trust him and pray the Seven he wasn't making a mistake.

"Fine. I trust in your words. Don't make me regret it."

"You won't."

The three finally sheathed their weapons and let the Stark lord get close. Ned looked at them. He didn't know the woman, but he had seen Ser Arthur several times. The man looked older, but also sharper, if that was possible. As for the boy, he was nimble of body and his face still held some baby-fat but he could already see it taking shape. A shape that, now he remembered, started to look like that of his father. Gwen led everyone in and offered bread with dried venison. The white direpup jumped on Jon's knees as soon as he sat.

"I guess you have questions." Ser Arthur sighed.

"I have." Ned frowned. "I was at the Trident. I remember what Rhaegar said that day. If Robert hadn't killed him, I would have, but now Rhaegar's son stands before me, obviously alive and in the company of his finest swordsman. This means the Prince lied…"

"He did. If you want the full story, there it is."

And so, the Sword of the Morning told the Lord of Winterfell the true story of Jaeron's origins. Ned was flabbergasted, even moreso once Jon agreed to show him his father's letter. Ned's eyes were wet before the end.

"…In the end, Rhaegar made the noblest, greatest sacrifice of all. To think he would be so thorough in covering you… I believe you. I believe everything you said."

"Thank you. Can we trust you to never tell anyone?"

"I shall take this secret to my grave." Ned frowned. "However, you cannot stay there. If you truly want to be safe and away from Robert's grasp, you need to cross the Wall and find haven among the wildlings. I know the lands are dangerous, but no one from Westeros will dare looking for you there. Look, I was able to find you, if only by chance. This means others can as well. Play it safe. Go further north."

For a moment, Ser Arthur remembered Maggy's prophecy.

You will journey north, ever and again, to the lands ever white.

"Very well. We'll go."

Jon nearly jumped.

"Uncle?"

"Lord Stark has a point." Ser Arthur frowned. "As long as we're south of the wall, you are at risk of being found. The lands beyond may be harsh, but at least, no one will try to kill you because you are Rhaegar's son."

Jon sighed.

"Alright."

They were gone two days later, Ser Gerolt at their side.